


Willom and Sónne

by MyOwnTidyIdaho



Category: Days of Our Lives
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnTidyIdaho/pseuds/MyOwnTidyIdaho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Horton is Willom Montague and Sonny Kiriakis is Sónne Capulet.  The story is based on Romeo and Juliet and many of these ideas and elements mimic what was written back then.  The language is meant to parallel that sort of old English style one thinks of.  From that perspective, the writing this is just an exercise in imitating a style and is not meant to sound pretentious.  Justin Kiriakis is Justyne Capulet.  Percy Ruggles is The Coscritto Patrizio Rooguls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R & J had a prologue and so I'll begin with one also.

Two youths,

their souls knit together,

from two opposing tribes of venomous conflict,

where two innocent hearts joined in devotion,

their kinsmen’s derision would fling apart,

seemed left no out but parting from this sphere.

And by this final woe

each family’s hatred of the other

was quelled.


	2. Willom Montague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Willom Montague.

Beyond the Alps across golden hills and fruited plains in northern Italy was Verona, center to culture and wealth, where unfolded this story of inspiring love. In Verona, two prominent families, Capulets and Montagues, were bitter rivals, so much that recurrent public quarrels broke out. The root of their contention was clouded, and it seemed no longer was a basis for their hateful behavior, as much as was the status quo, that each family considered the other a troop of fiends. In the worst cases their animosity sparked rageful fights ending in terrible wounds. 

The Chief Magistrate of Verona was Prince Stefano, by holy order of the High Cleric. Stefano ruled the city, and facilitated orthodoxy among the citizens. So it was, when the Prince forbade the two families from public violence, all Capulets and Montagues understood the peril to do so: banishment by the palace guards or worse by members of the High Cleric’s pontifical corps. While there came a tentative truce, Capulets and Montagues still looked on each other with menacing suspicion. 

Lukas Montague had ascended as family patriarch. His son Willom, by wife Samante, was widely known in Verona, for his beauty was such a pleasing thing, that most took note of it and made a point to remember who he was. Willom was a most respectful and prayerful youth. His countenance and his own tact paralleled his beauty, making him a satisfying young fellow to know.

Many took up the business of matching a young lady for Willom. Ultimately Prince Stefano promoted circumstances for introduction to Gabella, a young cousin of the High Cleric. Lukas and Samante approved and did best to encourage this pairing. 

Gabella was enchanted by Willom. Yet while he tried with all his heart to court her, Willom often preferred to set out on his own: wandering the streets of Verona to converse with friends; journeying to the next town, Lombardt; or enjoying his own solitude, meditation, and prayer. 

A circle of chaps loved him dearly and each one felt great delight this young Montague called him friend. Among those, Tadric was the closest bound, and Willom often walked out with him to talk and share ideas. His young fellows did their best to draw Willom to join in the revelry of Verona nights. Most times Willom declined such escapades, but one night Tadric convinced his bosom friend to come along with them. They donned festive masks over their eyes and hurried to join a fete underway at Capulet villa. 

Setting foot inside Capulet property was a rash and nearly dangerous choice. Yet Willom was drawn to it, perhaps a reflection of youthful rebellious nature and need for thrill. Still this may have been the fates that called him out of aloneness and into the midst that night. Willom was not one to rise against protocol, and yet he entered there inside the Capulet’s yard and from his choice and from that moment events unfolded that shook Verona and beyond.


	3. Sónne Capulet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willom meets Sónne Capulet.

Willom passed through the gate of the Capulet villa, with heart full of excitement as well as a small foreboding that in the worst though unlikely case, one of these Capulets might find him out and stick him with their dagger. But while inside, his trepidation melted as he observed such celebration as he had never witnessed. The yard was filled with mirth and all good feelings. The lawn was like a meadow bursting with fragrant roses, wild flowers, herbs and colored grasses everywhere. The scent was magnificent. A band of minstrels serenaded the guests with lute, harp, bagpipe and their own fine voices. Many gathered to listen to the music and others to dance together. Bright torches burned all around the banquet yard. Along one side, large fire pits blazed. Willom could smell savory meats and sweet breads from the kitchen. At the far end of the yard a bar served ale and wine. From there wafted incense: pungent odors of myrrh, sandalwood, frankincense, and rosewood wafted, as if to beckon all to come for their drink.

 

Willom was amazed how pretty the yard and how masterful these Capulets at giving a gay feast. He felt sad at the Montague’s loss not joining them as friends in such agreeable social occasions, yet was encouraged at his singular good fortune to be on hand for it.

 

Willom recognized several faces but was not well acquainted with any of them. The head of the Capulets, Víktoros was an advocate of festive events filled with happy company. If Willom’s own identity was already guessed by some, Víktoros effectively quelled any protestation, that these masked guests acted properly and so would be treated properly. Willom acknowledged him with a respectful bow, receiving perhaps the smallest nod in return.

 

Tadric and Willom wandered together as the rest of their band filtered into the crowd. The two enjoyed all sights and sounds, and offered a warm good evening to each that acknowledged them. Then Tadric felt Willom’s hand push slightly against his chest affecting notice how Willom gazed at something across the yard, and wanting Tadric to see as well. A clutch of young folk gathered all around a striking Capulet buck of piercing dark eyes and dashing smile. Willom noted how stunning this youth looked in the light of the torches and how others were so drawn to him, as he himself was now. Tadric saw Willom’s smile and knew the cause. Not close enough to satisfy, Willom pushed through for a clearer view, pulling Tadric along.

 

“I’ve never encountered such a remarkable looking youth. Who is he?”

 

“I’ve not met him, Willom, but it seems a Capulet for sure has your interest. Go now.”

 

Tadric smiled and mischievously shoved Willom forward, who, caught off guard, stumbled ahead, creating a small spectacle. The youth glanced at Willom momentarily.

 

Willom felt an undeniable urge to win this Capulet’s sole attention, to speak with him if he could find a way. The young Capulet looked again, spying Willom’s masked eyes transfixed on him.

 

Willom offered a subtle smile just as a crowd of revelers pressed between. Not certain whether any response given, Willom searched for another vantage to see this intriguing Capulet. At a point his way was blocked again and suddenly feared his target and his own chance at introduction were lost in the growing crush of revelment.

 

Willom quickly turned toward another way around, by then running straight into and nearly knocking over this very same Capulet, who was advancing opposite Willom.

 

The youth secured himself by Willom’s shoulders, then smiled and spoke, “Good sir you may want to be more careful. Why don’t you watch where you turn?”

 

Willom smiled in return. “Kindly fellow I should watch more carefully and make clear the way so you do not crash into me again.”

 

The young Capulet was happily perplexed. “Before you knock anyone over, let me take your hand and safely guide you around where we may talk.”

 

Willom feigned concern and withheld his hand. “While you might do so I fear the way may not be as safe as it is bumpy with you as my guide.”

 

The Capulet’s smile grew wider and he laughed aloud.

 

Willom gave a courteous bow to introduce himself. “Sir, my name is Willom.”

 

“Willom. Welcome, I am Sónne.”

 

Willom gave a small chuckle at it. “Good evening sir. This is my great pleasure to meet you.”

 

“You find my name amusing.”

 

Not only did it sound amusing, but also apropos to Willom how Sónne did seem to shine brightly like the sun, certainly bright as any of the torches in the yard.

 

“And Willom? Is that a name sounding like a kind of small tree?”

 

Willom felt heartened at this teasing from a Capulet came with such good humor and warm attitude, and how this was certainly meant to begin a bridge between. At once he was already disbelieving the Montagues could ever hate a family with one so genuine as this. “Sónne, my name is from a German ancestor, Willholme, for my mother is German descended.”

 

“Ah! Therein lies your origin of beautiful blonde hair.” Sónne was about to reach and brush a strand of it from Willom’s mask, when interrupted by a shrill alarm of a voice, not quite high enough to be a woman’s but yet not of a sonorous timbre easily recognized as a man’s, as much as the whining noise made by a howling wind through the trees.

 

“Greetings, young sir.”

 

Willom recognized the interloper now blocking his intention.

 

A diocesan administrator, The Coscritto Patrizio Rooguls, had immediately captured Sónne’s hand between his. The Coscritto knew well of the beautiful Willom, but did not acknowledge and perhaps did not recognize him masked. At least he did not admit so. Though Willom oft displayed highest tact and generosity of spirit towards most others, he never felt at ease around The Coscritto, his humor souring at the high pitched crying speech and insides curdling at his mere touch. Willom would compare his poking about and shrill expletives to a whining dog sniffing and scratching at the door.

 

Coscritto Rooguls smiled at Sónne while casting anxious and suspicious looks at Willom. Sónne attempted a civil humor in the face of the official, whose talkative, cackling assault could not be stopped.

 

“Congratulations my dear youth on your birthday. You are well a man by now and attractive to a fault. Beware those men that crowd around you that may beguile and flatter you for those are tools of the devil, to trick you for many purposes, including those the heavenly Father may never be able to forgive. Coscritto Rooguls smiled widely giving a view of his horribly uneven teeth, not quite like a wolf’s and not quite like those of a wild boar, though both came to mind.

 

Lukas Montague had described The Coscritto to Willom as the High Cleric’s silly henchman, 'the dizzy trizi', here in Verona to keep an eye on Prince Stefano, and had warned to stay out of his way, though didn’t explain why. That advice had proved difficult for Willom to achieve.  And now The Coscritto only confirmed Willom's low opinion as he droned on about his service to the High Cleric and his many audiences at the Palace with Prince Stefano.  Though Willom did take well to heart what his own tutor often reminded that one shouldn't  prejudge the worth or value of someone by its initial outward appearance alone, with this one particular supercilious man was convinced couldn't possibly draw great respect from either the High Cleric or Stefano, that he must be some tool to further their own ambitions.  For the moment The Coscritto was certainly ruining the immediate chance at continuing in happy dialogue with his handsome Capulet buck.  While the vain flap-mouthed administrator carried on, Willom shut out the gabble from his ears to award all focus to the handsome youth before him.  He was happily grateful for that much.

 

Willom then placed hand on Sónne’s arm in the most agreeable manner and left it there, if only to assure Sónne his refusal to surrender him. Finally, wanting to speak then in Sónne’s defense of a rude sermon being wrought by the awful guest, Willom now found himself unable to bring words, the breath taken away as an arrow had struck direct to his heart: Eros’ winning assault, with outcome sure and inevitable. Love was gradually seeping from Willom’s wound, towards every fiber and tissue and bone. Just as earlier an arrow first struck Willom’s same ready heart unleashing Desire that filled his hungry eyes with Sónne’s dashing figure, and bringing Willom forth from across the yard.  Eros, then with Willom in range of Sónne, had unleashed his second blow, Love. Thus conquered, Willom began an inescapable course that began so tenderly that night.

 

This innocent Montague, his heart twice struck, and now so emboldened, stealthily reached down, slipping Sónne’s free hand into both his. The Coscritto’s hands were as if the cold claw of a sea crab had clamped onto Sónne, who now wanting to save his from that cold detention wished to join it with his other that felt such glowing warmth, palm to palm with Willom. Willom bowed his head, as if in loving prayer and respectful devotion, while Sónne endured the duration of the lecture.

 

The Coscritto finally prepared to leave, summing up his wisdom shared, then turned to Willom as if the subject of the pious warnings. Thereupon, Willom offered a scripture, one that his mother Samante favored, from the Corinthians section of the Holy Book.

 

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am merely a sonorant gong or a clanging cymbal.”

 

The excerpt was as much a pleading his own courageous heart as it was an indictment of The Coscritto. The comment was surely not lost on Coscritto though who was left with nothing but to withdraw in a snit, which he did.

 

Sónne and Willom looked at each other for a moment and then laughter burst forth from young Montague. “I fear the man’s castanea tree has long been barren, if ever any nuts at all.”

 

Sónne smiled. “Perhaps that variant aligns with how like ice his hands. Is it then so telling from how warm your hands?” Sónne delivered a teasing nudge to Willom’s shoulder for emphasis.”

 

Willom smiled and blushed a little.

 

“Forgive me Willom, for that was a bawdy thing for me to say to you. I fear the sip of ale has loosed my tongue.”

 

“Was it the ale that kept such a pleasant face and sparkle in your eye during the lecture from the horrid Rooguls? I commend you are such a pleasant fellow to endure him. Besides, I first spoke in a bawdy nature, and so perhaps invited your teasing.”

 

“You’ve had no ale, though. What is your alibi then?”

 

“I have none, and so perhaps am left for you to judge me poorly.”

 

“I could not. For you saved me from his icy grip and he was away.”

 

Sónne smiled at masked Willom who seemed in many regards much more revealed than any unmasked guest that night, and in all regards delightful.

 

“Never did a warm hand feel as welcome to me as yours tonight good Willom.”

 

Willom gathered Sónne’s other hand to hold both between his own palms. “Sir I am happy to welcome your hand into mine and now the more honored to do so, learning that the fete is to celebrate your birthday.

 

“Should I be sad that you came tonight unknowing of my birthday but came in random exploration? “

 

“But ‘tis a happy coincidence not sad, and only sad to think if I had not ventured on this random quest I would not the pleasure to meet you. And now I do celebrate you. But Sónne, I admit I am sad I have no gift to leave with you on your birthday.”

 

“Let us both be quickly over these sad thoughts, for it seems neither of us are truly sad. Pray Willom do you plan to reveal your masked eyes, or to remain mysterious to me this evening? For I am beginning to feel naked and vulnerable in your curious presence.“

 

“Kind young sir, I would not want you to feel naked and vulnerable as much as I would want to save you from such disadvantage, but I have promised my fellows not to reveal ourselves tonight.”

 

“For what purpose? What are you? Known thieves? Are we to be hoodwinked by a team of pranksters?”

 

“No Sónne it is not that. We have only come here to enjoy this fete if the Capulets will allow it so. And now my intention here with you is true, as my father likes to say, is right as rain falls.”

 

“Your father? Then who is your father and what is your intention?”

 

“My intention to win your friendship, and someday my father you should meet, because Sónne I feel a fondness for you before we even spoke, and now it grows much.”

 

Just then a commotion came up. Members of his group were being challenged and voices were raised. Tadric called out to Willom.

 

“I must go before there is trouble. I shan’t want to see your celebration spoiled.” Willom dug in his pocket and withdrew a gold ducat. “I do have a gift for you Sónne. I carry this gold piece for luck. My father gave it go me. This is my gift to you tonight. May it bring you luck, health and success. Very happy birthday Sónne, my new friend.” Willom handed the piece to Sónne. “I pray we meet again soon.”

 

“Good Willom, how will I see you next? How will I know you?”

 

“I will return and ask if you would grant me audience so I may have you all to my selfish want without interruption by other youths or by The Coscritto and we may walk together and talk for as long as you do not grow tired of me.”

 

“I do not think you would ever grow tiresome, but I surely hope you give me the opportunity to find out. I look forward with anticipation. Good night Willom.”

 

“Good Sónne, there is no time.” Willom stole a kiss, on Sónne’s cheek.

 

Sónne's smile grew wide but mixed with a look of regret and confusion, so then Eros feared his final strategy remained uncertain. Sónne so wanted to see the face belonging this charming youth.

Willom quickly strode towards the gate. But then the victory over Sónne was won as two arrows struck devastating blows in succession to his chest. For Willom had stopped not far and came back towards, to share a final glance with Sónne, and there pulled off his mask, to extinguish any doubt. This was no prank, and there was no confusion what Willom might do for his Sónne, as hands then flew up to point and shake at this Montague. Some shouted and others grabbed roughly onto his coat. Willom then wrestled free and slipped away and out the gate.


	4. Justyne Capulet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sónne's birthday party ends. He has a conversation with his father.

Newly wounded, Sónne let out love’s sigh. His father Justyne approached, then gathered a strong arm around, shielding his son from the commotion.

 

Sónne hugged his father. “The feast was magnificent. I will always cherish it.”

 

“You were subject to much attention though. I worry how beset by all these guests, that a few might have been empty headed if not vulgar.”

 

“But Father, ‘tis not the point of a fete in a way, to raise our glass, share jovial banter, and sometimes spar and razz each other in loud manner? “

 

“Sónne, you are right. I should let go of these worrisome thoughts and treat you like the man you are becoming.”

 

“But becoming that, only by the example you set for me Father. I only want to set the same example to others of the character you nurtured in me. I only hope to be a righteous son.”

 

An awkward silence ensued. While both had more to share, and not knowing where to start. Justyne waited for Sónne to break his next words.

 

“I have made a worthy new friend tonight. He was such a kind fellow.”

 

Justyne peered into Sónne’s eyes. He had watched both The Coscritto and the masked youth monopolize his son, and was concerned about both: The Coscritto on general principles; the masked guest, that he was of the enemy Montagues, for Víktoros had already revealed such. Justyne looked on the innocence inside Sónne, knowing it will be taken away, with journey into manhood begun. Holding a protective fatherly unease, he had guessed what Patrizio Rooguls and Willom Montague wanted from his beloved son. Now Justyne could see Eros effect in Sónne’s eyes, that at least one of his guesses was true.

 

“So The Coscritto has earned your new friendship tonight? Are you so enchanted by him?” Justyne winked at his son.

 

Sónne laughed. “He can be a cheerful sort I imagine if he didn’t preach quite so much.”

 

“Granted, he does not come across as well as he might think. But, that does not seem a great appraisal of a new friend. But this other, did you know who he was? Víktoros was ready to take sword and throw him out if any trouble came, for this was the son of Lukas Montague come here with his band to enter at our gate.”

 

Justyne saw how anguish then came over his son, so then quickly assured, “Worry not. I could see his respect for you and was ready to stand forth and fend off any harm to the young Montague, and truly, I don’t believe Víktoros would have run your young guest out of the yard.”

 

Sónne slowly shook his head while pondering this news, but then smiled and spoke excitedly. “A Montague! Perhaps afraid he’d scare me off, I’m sure he’ll tell me when next we meet.”

 

“You shall meet him? Will The Coscritto suffer jealousy?”

 

Sónne grinned. “I think he may Father. But the new friend I spoke of is not The Coscritto, but the one whose family is now known to me, Willom Montague.”

 

“Oh the trials of being a father! Why cannot they be easy? Víktoros and your mother will certainly howl about this. Perhaps you should give this new friendship more thought.”

 

“You know I would resist causing you distress Father and I will give it thought. But consider, Willom was generous with me. He gifted me his lucky gold ducat. He was kind to me tonight and showed a respect that would please Víktoros and Mother. And it seems he has the same opinion of The Coscritto as you. Perhaps you two are of like mind and so the reason I felt so comfortable near him.”

 

Justyne laughed and gave an affectionate squeeze to the back of Sónne’s neck and smiled.

“Very well. The party has broken. To bed with you. It seems we shall speak more of this tomorrow.” Justyne kissed his boy’s forehead and sent him up.

Eros own victorious wings lifted the conquered youth into his bed chamber where Sónne sprawled out, hands behind his head, eyes staring up at the reflection of night candles dancing on the ceiling, and thinking of his Willom.


End file.
